


When wishes come true

by orphan_account



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cross that Robbie is paying attention to Laura, James goes out on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When wishes come true

It didn’t matter how much he tried to keep his mask in place, when Dr Hobson played “best friends” with Lewis, it hurt. James tried to concentrate on his laptop but he couldn’t help over-hearing. They were going to meet up for a drink. Damn it! He lost a file and banged his forehead on the keyboard, causing a mess on the screen.

 

He stayed late – work was the only answer. No, it would never happen. Robbie would never turn to him and say what he wanted to hear. There would never be those little touches, those glances … what he had now was all that it was going to be and he might as well get used to it.

 

Grow up, Hathaway, he told himself. You’re not a schoolboy, you’re a grown man. Give it a rest. Just for once, spend a day without having Robbie Lewis in the fore-front of you mind.

 

Starting now, he decided. There were two pubs in Paradise Street where he knew he’d meet “like-minded people” so he took himself off to the Castle Tavern and installed himself at the end of the bar, figuring that if he sat at a table it would make it more difficult for anyone to pick him up and he’d feel stupid and obvious.

 

He drank steadily and faster than he should and was soon rather tipsy. Getting his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket to go outside for a smoke he dropped them on the floor.

 

“Hang on, Laddie, let me get those for you,” a Scottish voice said and an arm put him back on his bar stool, from which he was in danger of falling from leaning down. “There you go. Need a hand?”

 

James thanked the stranger and wobbled a bit before focussing on him. Older, Robbie’s age maybe but concerned, holding his elbow to stop him falling down.

 

“Outside for a bit of fresh air was it? Me too – come on, give you a hand, Son.” James had a moment of panic, disappearing out of the pub with a stranger but felt in his pocket for his phone – he could panic-call if need be.

 

The fresh air sobered him up a bit and James squinted at the man who had let go of his arm to light their cigarettes. He was rocking on his heels, hands in pockets and staring up at the sky, blowing smoke out.

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Fair enough, he’s probably not worth it anyway.”

 

“How do you know it’s a he?” James was slightly affronted; he’d always done so well at covering up.

 

“Takes one to… anyway, you’re drinking like a lunatic and you don’t strike me as the sort to let a girl get to you. Far too sensible. Ergo, you’re floundering in the “I love him, he doesn’t love me” morass. Been there, done that … bastard stole the Tshirt too” The older guy gave an ironic snort of laughter.

 

Ergo – that was a word not many people used in everyday conversation. James looked at him again. Short, tubby but kindly-looking, the sort of face you could trust, the kind of person you could talk to, even if you weren’t half-pissed and full of self-pity. He was sort of familiar and the policeman-brain clicked through images from the day, sorting and cataloguing.

 

“Seen you before,” James slurred. “Outside the Ashmolean … but you were shouting at people in French.” The red-grey beard parted in a cheeky grin.

 

“Mea culpa! Bloody students – it’s my holiday job, shepherding hordes of native French English-teachers around Oxford who’re on refresher courses here. Shite job but it pays well and gives me a trip back to the old country. Trouble is they refuse to speak English to each other and I end up having to play CPO at them in French … which is what you saw me doing today.”

 

“CPO?” James was mystified.

 

“Chief Petty Officer – naval equivalent of a Sergeant-Major. S’what I used to do. You don’t loose the knack.”

 

James waded through the information, his alcohol-fogged brain picking out snippets.

 

“Come back? So you don’t live here?” The ex-sailor shook his head then turned back towards the pub

 

“Coming back in, Son? I need another pint.” At that moment there was an ear-splitting wail close by.

 

Looking across the road they saw a woman in a wheelchair remonstrating with a young girl next to a bus stop. Without a word, the Scotsman dived through the traffic and went to help them so James trotted over too.

 

“Spot of bother, hen?” The woman looked exhausted and the girl stared at the ground, refusing to make eye-contact with the strangers.

 

“My battery’s gone flat and my daughter can’t push me all the way home.” She sounded close to tears.

 

“Nae bother. Hud on!” the accent dropped into dialect and he patted her shoulder while digging out his mobile phone. “Got a taxi firm you know that’ll take your chair, hen?” She nodded but bit her lip.

 

“I can’t afford a taxi, it’s miles,” she whispered.

 

“That’s OK”, James offered “We’ll pay. Can’t have you stuck in the middle of town at this time of night.” He and the Scotsman held out a few notes and then wandered back over to the pub, not wanting to embarrass her any further having made sure the taxi was on its way.

 

“Poor lamb,” the other man remarked as they walked back into the bar and found a table. That was pure Hobson, James thought and descended back into misery, wondering what she and Robbie were up to while he was drinking too much with a stranger. He ordered a double scotch and downed it in one.

 

“That bad eh?” remarked his drinking pal.

 

“Worse,” James replied, handing his glass over for a refill.

 

“Steady on, laddie – hitting the jungle juice like that won’t make it any better, believe me, I tried. Got a liver the size of a walnut to prove it.” The chuckle that accompanied this remark was infectious and James found himself laughing too. What the hell, he thought, Robbie was out with Laura and he was in good company, why not enjoy it and this guy obviously found him pleasing. That was flattering, he reflected, not often he let himself be admired.

 

“You eaten, Son? If we’re going to go on a bender together you better get something in your stomach. I would hate for you to throw up on my nice jacket.” This was said in such a camp manner while a limp hand caressed the brown suede sleeve that James found himself giggling uncontrollably. He was actually having fun and not pining so much, if he made an effort to not think about Robbie.  
They made their way to a Thai restaurant nearby and ordered lots of beer with their meal. James’ new friend amused him greatly with stories of his life in the navy and his current civilian job teaching English to adults in France.

 

“So this woman says … you’ll love this … well, my favourite dish is Coq au Vin and to make it you take a piece of cock…”

 

James nearly choked on his food and had a coughing fit. He swigged down a half-glass of beer and wiped his eyes.

 

“Yes, that was my reaction too. Only time I lost my professional cool and ended up with my head on the desk, banging my fist and roaring with laughter ……… then I had to explain why THAT word was a no-no. Bloody funny though.”

 

James couldn’t remember when he’d last been so relaxed. He didn’t have to be careful what he said, just enjoy the company and be entertained. He glanced across the table at the other man and wondered if he could fancy him. He had nice eyes and a lot of smile lines. What would it be like to kiss someone with a beard, he thought and then mentally slapped his own face. Behave yourself, Hathaway, you’re thinking like a tart!

 

“So – going to tell me what drove you to drink? For me it was a faithless lover.” The words were light but the expression on the other man’s face was grim. “Worse than any wife – took me for every penny I had and fucked off with someone else.”

 

James pulled a face.

 

“Shit. Nothing so dramatic, just “truly madly deeply” in love with someone who doesn’t know I exist.” He’d never admitted it to anyone before, hardly acknowledging it to himself.

 

“Worse, in a way,” his new friend commiserated. “Especially if he’s not … that way inclined” he made the inverted commas sign with his fingers. “We don’t have it easy, Son, do we?”

 

“How did you know?” James was curious. He had spent most of his adult life giving off no signals at all and he wanted to know how he’d been rumbled.

 

“Like I said, Laddie – takes one to know one. I’ve got gay-dar at 200% and you just looked so bloody miserable. Thought you needed cheering up.” It was said with complete frankness and James was momentarily jealous of this nice man who was obviously easy with what he was.

 

“When did you know?” he blurted it out without thinking. He’d never asked another gay man about this kind of thing.

 

“When I didn’t fancy girls, obviously” his friend chuckled again. “When I fell in love with my best friend and wanted him to love me back … which of course he didn’t. He laughed at me. Broke my bloody heart. But that was good practice – I’ve been getting it broken on a regular basis ever since.”

 

James felt a stab of guilt at the memory of Will coming out to him when they were 14. He’d done exactly the same and with the same results. He reached across the table and took the other man’s hand.

 

“I’m sorry,” but he wasn’t sure if he was expressing sympathy to him or for what he’d done to Will.

 

His hand was squeezed briefly.

 

“Ach, don’t worry, Son – big shoulders and a tough hide – you get used to it. But you…you better find yourself someone more … suitable should I say? You can’t spend your life hankering for the impossible. Like Quentin Crisp said -There is no big dark man; that is the sadness of being queer.” James was shocked at the casual use of the word but the other man waved a hand dismissively “WE can say it. And he’s right. The ones we want, don’t want us and we usually end up settling for second best ... one of our own. And no, that isn’t a chat-up line, just a bit of sound advice if you choose to accept it.” The Scotsman pushed his chair away from the table and asked for the bill, which they split between them.

 

Outside the restaurant, they stood smoking for a while and then James turned to his companion.

 

“So what now?” Was he inviting him back? Was he asking for more? The hazel eyes narrowed at him and a gentle smile broke out under the whiskers.

 

“Now? Well, now I go back to my room in the college and you go home, young man.”

 

“Oh.” Was he disappointed? Had he hoped …?

 

The Scotsman put himself right in front of James and looked up into his face.

 

“Ach, don’t get me wrong Son, you are tempting. You are temptation incarnate. But you’re a nice laddie, a bit miserable and a bit pissed and it would be wrong of me. It’s called taking advantage and I don’t go in for it. We’ve had a nice evening, now go home before we do something we’d both regret. I’m only human, ye ken?”

 

James felt forlorn. Robbie out with Laura, his attempt at getting picked up failed – he appreciated the decency of the refusal but he was hurt.

 

“Ach – come here then.” It was like kissing a teddy-bear, James thought - cuddly and comfortable and hairy but with a smoky, beer-flavour to the kiss which was long and sensual and very satisfactory. So, that was what a beard felt like, much softer than he would have thought, and tickly, very tickly.

 

“Go on home, laddie. It’s been fun.” The Scotsman sounded hoarse and he turned away quickly, probably before he could regret his decision. James called after him.

 

“I don’t know your name!” He looked back over his shoulder with that cheeky grin.

 

“That’s right, Son, you don’t. I’m your Fairy Godfather. Be lucky... and find yourself a boyfriend!”

 

******************************

 

Arriving at the office the next morning James had a stinking hangover and was in a bad mood. He mooched through the door with his hands in his pockets and came to an abrupt halt.

 

Someone had hung balloons and streamers all around the walls and a banner read “Happy Birthday, James” above his desk. He’d actually forgotten his own birthday!

 

Laura and Robbie were standing, grinning behind a huge cake with one candle on it. Laura stepped forward, depositing it on the desk and kissed James on the cheek.

 

“Happy Birthday, Sgt. Hathaway. Go on – blow it out and make a wish.”

 

“This is what Laura and I were planning last night. Took us ages waiting for you to leave the office.” Robbie pretended to complain.

As James bent forward to blow out the candle, Robbie very discreetly pinched his bum, then winked at the surprised look on his sergeant’s face. Perhaps he really did have a fairy godfather, he mused.


End file.
